


Insomnia

by aye1captain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, draco is healing and that's what i'm in for, honestly i just couldn't fall asleep and this happened, iamx insomnia, pansy parkinson deserved better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:28:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aye1captain/pseuds/aye1captain
Summary: Draco couldn't sleep; he lay awake at night, eyes burning and his left forearm vibrating slightly.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	Insomnia

Draco couldn’t sleep.

He lay awake at night, eyes burning and his left forearm vibrating slightly. He knew it wasn’t an actual real pulsation, but a phantom pain, as they called it. It didn’t make it any better.  
He lay, thinking, and hating himself. Thinking, and pushing the thoughts away. Thinking, and trying to make peace with what he has done: the actions he’s taken, the words he’s said, the people he’s hurt. Thinking that helped neither those people nor him, and yet there was very little he could do to stop it.  
The sky outside their dormitory’ windows would go darker, then dark, and then he would hear the gulls over the lake. The nights those days were nothing short of excruciatingly exhausting, but he deserved it.

Didn’t he?

He’d roll over in his bed, from one side to the other to the third to assuming a pose one totally wouldn’t be able to fall asleep in, until eventually, he would give up.

Draco couldn’t sleep, so sometimes, long after the dark swallowed the castle, he would get up, throw his robes over his pyjamas, and head downstairs to the eighth-year common room. He’d sit in the couch, straight across the fireplace, elbows sharp on his thighs, shoulders rigid, forehead creased.

But the other days, he wasn’t alone there. 

He’d stumble down the stairs, hair ruffled and eyes puffy, slim on the verge of skinny, so pale he seemed ghostly, and lock eyes with Pansy. She never looked good, and they always talked.

“... And sometimes, I see the battle, over, and over, and over again in my head, you know?”  
“Mhm.”  
“What if we’ve given up Potter from the beginning? What if we tried, and he ran, and we never would’ve defeated the-” She breathed in sharply. “Him? How could’ve we ever known that Harry was the secret weapon we had all along?” She was quicker than Draco when allowing herself to accept herself as part of the good side.

Furthermore, unlike Draco, full of guilt and remorse, Pansy seemed to always be running the war over and over in her head. Every single day. Every single decision. Every single possibility.

“What if everything would’ve been different? Ended differently? What if… Draco,” she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks. “What if he won?”

He thought it helped. Talking to Pansy over the war days, running them through his head and realizing, each time ever so clearer, that there was no other way. That what happened had to happen, and now it was the way it was because everything happened the way it has. Back during his sixth year, this understanding would make him feel helpless and hopeless. These days, it made him feel less of a villain and more of a man that couldn’t make the right choice, even with all the red flags up his face.  
It was, surprisingly, a better feeling.

Pansy would go to sleep earlier than he had on those nights. He’d move to the fire, and sit there, and think, think and think, over and over and over again. In the morning, Pansy was always the first to wake up, so she was always the one to find him there and set him off to wash his face.

Sometimes, he’d stab his toe on a door frame--not quite accustomed to the room yet--curse silently and catch a snicker from Blaise. Blaise wasn’t ever as talkative as Pansy were.

“Hey, Dray.”  
“Blaise.”

He’d open his mouth, surely, he’d ask questions, but never anything war-related.

“Herbology homework? I am starting to feel like I’m better off as an Auror than having to do all this stuff for the entire next semester!”  
“I think I’m enjoying it more than you are.”

Never anything even remotely close to what has happened to them.

“Seen Seamus lately? The man’s gorgeous.”

Draco didn’t mind that much.

And of course, on some days, he’d run into Ron, holding Hermione tightly, or the girl, whispering to him and brushing her fingers through his hair. They never paid much mind to him, except for a short nod and a whispered, “Hey, Malfoy.” Those were interesting nights, for he was very much not alone in the room, not alone with the despair, not the only one struck by terror of his nightmares, not alone unable to sleep. He would, however, feel extraordinarily lonely. That was healthy, he thought, but never helped with anything much. Worse came to worse, it made him self-conscious of his burning self-hatred, and he would have to leave earlier than he would’ve, heading back to the room.

But the best of the nights would be the ones that he spent in the room with Harry.

Heroes didn’t seem to quite be able to sleep, as well, he learned to know.

They never really addressed each other on those nights, they surely never talked, but they did acknowledge each other’s presence. Harry would usually lie down on the same couch that Draco favoured; legs up on one of its arms, head resting on his forearms on the other. 

This night was no different.

As Draco stepped outside the staircase to peer into the common room, he noticed the familiar untidy hair and a sticking out elbow. He drew in a long breath, before shaking it off and approaching the couch. Harry, as subtle as ever, moved his legs further towards the back of the couch, vacating Draco’s usual seat.  
It was a weird dynamic they had.  
Draco, for once, never understood why Potter would leave his bedroom just to lie down again in the common room. Worse than that, it was unclear to him, how Potter never fell asleep on the couch.

On the second thought, he probably didn’t want to know.

Harry, however, didn’t seem to be bothered by Draco’s ways at all. He was always there first, and he always let him sit on the same side of the couch, shifting his legs in the same nonchalant manner. How did he even know that was the seat Draco would want to take? Why did he assume Draco would ever take that seat so close to Potter and almost under the arch of his legs?  
But he did want that seat. And he did take it, even though it was right under the arch of Potter’s legs. At the very end of the day, that one was the closest to the fire, and the fire seemed to drain his mind clear. Or tire him enough to find shelter in a dreamless, restless sleep.

“What are you thinking?” Potter’s rough voice broke the silence for what seemed like the first time in ages. Draco shifted slightly, casting Harry a look to make sure it was really him talking and that he was really talking to him. Potter stared straight back at Draco, eyebrows up, face calm. Calmer, at least, than one would have expected from an insomniac.  
Draco looked away long before Potter had, sat silently for moments and moments without end before he finally gathered enough strength to speak up.

“You.”

Potter didn’t reply, but it also didn’t feel like he either looked away or was prepared to finish the conversation. But then again, there was little to no tension in the air. If Draco didn’t open his mouth again, he didn’t think Potter would either.  
That was just how they worked now, and Draco felt rather confident that that was the way they were always meant to.

“You saved me, what, twice? And that’s not counting ending the war.” When he spoke, however, he did so slowly and quietly. As if careful to not touch any specifically raw subjects. Harry didn’t flinch. He didn’t make the smallest sound at that, just kept burning his eyes into Draco’s side.

Was he expecting more?

Could Draco give more? Did he want to? Did he need to?

As the silence stretched, Draco thought that Potter wasn’t going to follow up with the conversation. He considered speaking up to ask the same question back, but then thought more of that, and didn’t.

The fire danced quietly in front of his eyes, cracking and throwing sparks in the air.

Then, Harry shifted. At first, Draco thought he was going to get up and return to the dormitory, but instead, Potter got up and sat on the floor right in front of him.

“You’re blocking the fire.”  
“Too bad.”

And then he stared straight into Draco’s eyes, thinking. Or looking for something. Or just straight-up analyzing, it wasn’t quite clear to him.

“Why are you thinking of that?”

Draco didn’t want to meet his eyes. He just wanted the fire back, and to maybe be alone here, or to never talk to Potter ever again, because these questions were pure personal space penetration.

“A hero-boy, and you’ve only saved your archenemy twice? What a sad story.”  
“Don’t bullshit me.”

Wasn’t there enough spite in his words? There definitely was not, seeing as Potter so easily battled through it.  
Draco inhaled sharply.

“Couldn’t’ve tried a little harder to make it in front of a few witnesses, could you?”

He did not reply to that.

He did flinch.

Draco wanted to meet his eyes even less now, but for that reason only, he did shift his gaze to lock onto Potter’s.

“Sorry.” He muttered.

The man didn’t smile but his eyes softened a little.

It was quiet for much longer then. Potter wasn’t looking in his eyes anymore, instead, his eyes seemed to be travelling all over Malfoy’s posture. Tired but straightened shoulders, scars peering from under the collar and the sleeves of his pyjamas. When his eyes, closely followed by Draco’s, brushed over the side of his forearm, Draco choked on air.

“Is that…” The arm seemed to pulsate again, Potter’s eyes shooting straight back to Draco’s in a fraction of a second. “Is that what it feels like when they stare at yours?”  
“The scar?”

Draco didn’t reply.

“Invasive. Like the scar defines what I am, when really it doesn’t. Like they think they know me just because they saw the scar.”

Silence.

Were they really that alike?

Draco licked his lips.

“Thank you for asking.” He didn’t think Harry should be the one saying that, so he didn’t acknowledge it much. Nothing, except for a loud pang of increasing self-hatred deep in his stomach, seemed to move the tiniest way in reaction to Potter’s words.

As another loud silence stretched over them, Draco didn’t feel as comfortable anymore. On the contrary, he was curious. Potter seemed to be nicer than most when talking to him about his experiences. He seemed to… almost get him, even though, their experiences were completely utterly different. Or were they?  
Trying so hard to speak up his feelings, Draco shuttered a breath, opened his mouth (closely followed by Potter’s eyes) and then closed it again. Before he managed to feel disappointed with himself, he pushed all his might to repeat that, but this time, he spoke up.

“Why did you save me?” Voice raw, eyes staring straight through Harry, as if the fire were to settle any moment now and Harry would just appear to be an illusion of the sleep-deprived mind.

“Don’t you think everyone deserves to be saved?”  
“No, you don’t get it,” it felt like he did. “Why did you save me?”

Harry’s lips seemed to stretch into a glimpse of a smile, his eyes silky and somehow understanding. As if the wall between them has been breached, and Harry could now see Draco is a different light, something, he hasn’t had the chance to before.

“You don’t think you deserve saving, do you,” not quite a question. Draco didn’t see it important to provide Potter with an answer.  
They were quiet for a while after that, Potter just sitting there in front of him, not quite looking at him, not quite through him. They were close but the closure meant nothing, for both were so lost in their thoughts. Draco, for once, did not hope for this conversation to end as he had a few moments before Harry got up. And Harry himself… It was hard to guess by his face but something seemed to shift in it: his eyebrows drew closer together, his mouth thinning, as Professor McGonagald’s did so often, and for a moment, Draco let himself wonder if Harry was, by any chance, mad with something.

And then, at last, he spoke.

“I don’t blame you, you know? I think- I know,” he corrected himself, “that some and quite a few of them do, but fuck their opinion, you get me?” He looked up, seeking eye-contact with Draco. He tried to avoid it at all costs. It felt almost bittersweet. “I think you didn’t really… Understand that there was a choice? Until the very end? If you see, what I mean. Not that it’s very bright from you,” he smiled, “a Slytherin,” he smirked. “But none of it is evil. Okay?”

It was quiet again then. The silence was thick, and it smelled of warmth, recent nightmares, Harry and fire embers. Draco tasted salt on his lips that he wished wasn’t there but he couldn’t will it to leave. He thought that Harry made a move for his hands but the intention died so quickly it might’ve just been a movement in hot air, after all.

“I can’t make you believe me,” Harry spoke up again, eyes somehow so much more gentle than they were before. “But if you don’t think I’d lie to you, that is what I see.”

Did he really?

Did he really see a boy, a boy that didn’t know better but wasn’t to be despised for it? A boy, who didn’t think he had a choice? A boy, who tried to succeed in what he believed to be right just to have it all go so terribly wrong in front of his own eyes?  
If that truly was what Potter thought, it all made Draco seem stupid and useless, and a waste of space. His lips probably curled bitterly, because Harry then smiled softly and got up on his knees.

“Draco,” something about this name, pronounced this way from this man, made Draco shiver. “It’s okay to move on.”

Was that him speaking to Draco, or was he just trying to tell himself that?

“Are you?”

And then, it happened. Harry raised higher on his knees to level his head with Draco’s. He still wasn’t letting go of Draco’s gaze, and the man couldn’t turn away himself, so they sat there, staring at each other.  
Draco didn’t know there was movement around him until Potter’s warm fingers circled his palm, caressing him ever so gently. 

Funny, now real nightmares felt compared to this.

Harry moved his head forward until they couldn’t see each other’s eyes anymore. “I think I am now,” he whispered, lips brushing over Draco’s cheek.

The moment froze there--Draco heard a wall breaking inside of him; his hands trembling as he held onto Potter, his lips whispering nonsense, his tears finally falling down his cheeks that have been kissed so carefully just now; and even ages after, he wouldn’t have been able to tell how long the moment lasted.  
He only knew that Harry was next to him, holding him close as Ron sometimes held Hermione, nodding, and listening, and smiling, and reassuring him of all people, and maybe it felt right. Maybe, that right there felt like finally being able to breathe again.

“Go to sleep, Draco,” Harry mumbled in his hair minutes before the dawn broke out.

And so he did. And tomorrow didn’t get better, and the wound stung stronger than ever before, but he thought it meant healing. He thought it meant that, as one had to do with a bodily injury, he has got it cleaned, and now he could finally heal.

And it didn’t feel good or easy.

And it didn’t feel like he deserved it.

But he knew it was time.

**Author's Note:**

> hello again,
> 
> i'm hoping you've enjoyed this!!! i am a hard draco!redemption person so here was nothing (:


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